Waffle Stories
by Shimegami-chan
Summary: One-shot. Creamland Castle experiences a terrible breakfast shortage! Princess Pride must take matters into her own hands...


Waffle Stories  
_by Shimegami-chan_

A/N: This was written on a sleepless night, when I'd just opened up _Rewrite_ and thought, "I haven't written a Rockman fanfic in so long." So I decided to write a Princess Pride story, and when I thoughtlessly asked for story ideas in the Rockman.EXE Online IRC channel, I was instructed to write about waffles.

So I did.

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In the vast and elegent country of Creamland, though the village-dwellers had fallen on hard times, morale was high and the people were merry, celebrating the upcoming coronation of the Crown Princess, Pride Cream.

But this isn't a story about them. Really, it's a story about waffles.

The Crown Princess was accustomed to being awoken early, since many of the ruling responsibilities had been delegated to her, and her days were always long and tiring. She had fallen into the habit of crawling out of bed at Knightman's insistance no later than half-past-six, struggling sleepily into a silk robe, and padding barefoot to the dining room, the chill of the stone floors seeping into her feet. Since falling asleep (and headfirst into a full teacup) one morning last month, Knightman hadn't allowed her to eat breakfast in bed.

Her reveille repast was always the same - hot tea, and waffles with whipped cream and blueberries. It was a deliciously sugary breakfast that her father had frowned upon since she was five. Which was, of course, most of the reason she continued to eat it every morning.

Which brings us to the plot of the story - Princess Pride's quest for waffles, on a chilly September morning.

On this particular morning, after she had sat down at her customary place at the end of the table, Pride was rather surprised to discover that neither her waffles nor her servants had appeared. She was, of course, not your 'typical' princess (she enjoyed a good game of baseball over croquet) and often found the servants rather bothersome (particularly when they were chasing her throughout the castle), but in the mornings, she felt that it was better to be catered to - it helped her get through the day more easily. When no one had appeared with breakfast within a few moments, she rose and padded to the foyer.

"Oh, Your Highness." Francois, the butler, was stationed by the door, accepting a postal delivery. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Francois. Would you happen to know where Jean is today?"

"Ah, I'm afraid he is in his quarters, very ill. I have called for a replacement cook to arrive before noon - I am certain he will be able to prepare lunch to Your Highness' specifications. Would you like me to call a caterer to bring you breakfast?"

"No...no. I'll be fine. Thank you."

"Of course, Your Highness."

This was how the Crown Princess of Creamland came to be waist-deep in flour on that morning, agonizing over the complicated kitchen appliances (she was certain Jean must have some sort of university degree to operate the things). Knightman was plugged-into the waffle iron, arguing with the programs, while Pride scooped fistfuls of flour back into its sack. The black "Kiss the Cook" apron she wore over her clothes was powdered white.

"Princess! I have convinced the programs to turn on!" Knightman cried triumphantly, a bell-like sound signifying his return to the PET.

"Grand," she said, perhaps a little irritably. Waffles should not be this complicated. "Pull up the recipe again, would you?"

"If you have finished stirring the batter, it can be poured into the iron now."

She pulled her PET cord free of the appliance and, flour tufting with each step, ambled to the counter to give the batter a final stir. It was a tad runny, but smelled about right, and she had followed the instructions Knightman had found on the Net to the letter. Hefting the huge vat of batter, the princess tipped it into the hot waffle iron, wincing as she lost a litre or more across the counter. "Good thing I made plenty."

"Next, is the cream finished?"

"Finished is right." Pride eyed the metallic bowl on the floor nearby, practically foaming with cream. In fact, it had exhibited certain volcanic tendencies when she tried to whip it, making her hesitant to approach it again.

"Princess, the iron program has informed me that there was an oil-based whipped cream in the fridge."

Pride wrinkled her nose. Her country was famous for its buttercreams and other dairy products - what was the cook doing, keeping a cheap oil-based can around? Still, she thought, that didn't necessarily mean it was i bad. /i There was a first time for everything. "Okay, I'll get it. And the berries?"

"Just wash them. They are in the fridge as well."

Humming to herself, Pride snatched a basket of blueberries and the tin of whipped cream out of the refrigerator, stepping over the milk spill that was crawling from the fridge underneath the stove. That was to be a task for after breakfast.

Running the berries under cold water, she sniffed the air. "Knightman, do you smell something burning?"

"Obviously not, princess."

"Oh. Right. Well, I-- i kyaa/i " Suddenly aware of the black smoke issuing from the waffle iron, she ran across the spacious kitchen, skidding on flour, and impacted against the white marble counter. The vat of batter poured across the floor. Gritting her teeth, Pride shoved the end of her PET cord into the waffle iron's port. "Plug-in, Knightman!"

Within seconds he had deactivated the appliance, and Pride wrenched it open, allowing the smoke to billow out and dissipate into the air. "The doors! And kill the alarms, too!"

"Yes!" Knightman issued a command to the master computer to deactivate the kitchen smoke alarm and shut the large French doors.

Pride manually opened a window, using a tablecloth to wave away the smoke. "I'm afraid to look. How bad is it?"

"I am afraid I am not at a good angle, Princess."

Sighing, Pride peeked over the sink at the waffle iron, which was only slightly less volatile now. For what it was worth, breakfast didn't look terribly singed, just a little blackened.

"How is it?"

"I can stomach it." She rathered liked the concept of cooking for herself - it was exciting, even, but this was pushing it. She fished the two darkened waffles out of the iron and deposited them onto a plate. It was interesting to note that the runny batter on the floor seemed to have congealed when it came in contact with the flour, stopping the flood before it reached the French doors. Pride noted that it was probably worth calling for a servant to take care of this - later.

Again humming, she doused the waffles in genuine Ameroupe maple syrup, heaped blueberries upon them, and covered it all in a generous helping of whipped cream. Under the toppings, the charred surface wasn't even visible, much to the princess' delight. "Okay, Knightman, it's time for my feast."

"It's also time for your meeting with the Minister of Security."

She kicked the door open with a slippered foot, proudly holding her masterpiece aloft as she bore it into the dining room.

"Princess?"

"Tell him he's needed in the kitchen," she yawned, and sat down to breakfast.

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_-fin_

...1,000 words about waffles. I should be shot.


End file.
